The Cottage Next Door Read Free Page A

watched, her mother would rest easier.
    He held out his hand. “Jeremy Richmond—­permanent resident of Santa Cruz, transient here in the cove until I’ve finished rebuilding this kitchen.”
    “Diana Wagnor—­possible permanent resident of Santa Cruz, depending on how my new job works out. But after looking at the real estate flyer I picked up last night, I can say without hesitation that I’m a temporary resident of the cove.” The price of a bungalow half the size of the house she’d burned to the ground in Topeka cost ten times as much in the cove; she could only imagine the rental price. What appeared to be an ordinary house that also had an ocean view, but was in another part of the city, would buy the Governor’s Mansion sitting on five hundred acres back home.
    “I meant to stop by last night to introduce myself and Shiloh, but it didn’t work out.”
    “I’m sorry I missed her.” She looked around the tarp-­covered living room. “I love construction projects. Would you mind showing me what you’re doing? I happen to be one of those obnoxious home improvement junkies.”
    “Right now there’s not a lot to see beyond a gutted room and a set of plans.” He moved to the side to make room for her to step onto the paper that covered the hardwood floor. “Are you into the This Old House kind of home improvement, or the rebuild a three-­thousand-­square-­foot house in a weekend kind?”
    She laughed. “You’re talking to a woman whose first crush was on Norm Abram. I was devastated when The New Yankee Workshop was canceled.”
    “Then you should appreciate what Julia has hired me to do in this kitchen remodel.”
    “Julia’s the homeowner?”
    He reached around her to move aside the hanging tarp. “To her it’s more than a home. It’s a love affair.”
    Diana went to the newly installed triple-­paned window and looked outside. If this were her home, she’d never use the dishwasher, not when she could stand at a sink with such a view. “You have the perfect job.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Building houses and doing it here.”
    “I do more rebuilding than building nowadays. The last house I built from the foundation up was a dozen years ago.” He rolled out the kitchen plans on a sawhorse table. “This is the second time I’ve worked on this house. And the first time on any project I’ve done that I’m glad to get a chance at a do-­over.”
    Diana held her hands behind her and looked at the plans. “In what way are you glad?”
    “The first go-­round was top-­of-­the-­line everything, and wound up too modern and too flashy. The style didn’t fit a hundred-­year-­old house. It needed a ceramic farm sink, not stainless steel, and a subway tile backsplash, not gray and blue art glass. Then there was a leak that did major water damage and Julia got to start over. It took a year of planning and scheduling, but we finally got together.”
    Coconut came on point, stood with her head cocked for several seconds, then bent down to crawl under the tarp, her tail whipping around like a lopsided helicopter blade.
    “Where is everyone?” A deep male voice came from the direction of the front door.
    “Excuse me,” Jeremy said to Diana. “That’s Michael with my lunch.”
    Even though it was too much of a coincidence, her first impulse was to ask, “Michael Williams?”
    He nodded before he pushed aside the tarp. Diana caught a glimpse of the man she’d be working with at the galleries for the next month—­until Peter, the artist who owned the galleries, returned from Europe. She still wasn’t sure whether she was working “with” or “for” Michael, only that he was in charge of the day-­to-­day operation and would be able to answer her bookkeeping questions.
    She moved so that she could see him better through the slit in the opening Jeremy left behind. She guessed Michael to be around her age, give or take a year or so. He was the same height as Jeremy, with black wavy